Geoff and Chet Ch. 05

Chapter 05 Verbal foreplay raises the stakes

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction, part of a multi-chapter, two part novella. Copyright, 2023. All characters portrayed in sexual situations are over 18. BD

Chet was pretty restless that night, obviously in some pain. We both woke several times. I gave him a little more room, handed him water and pills, kissed his closing eyes, and resumed my protective stance until morning, lightly spooning. I was naked and erect most of the night. It felt really good having someone in my bed again even if restless and in some pain. I felt protective and maybe even a little parental. I need to watch that.

The room was bright early—I had failed to close the black-out drapes--which was fortunate. I had time to move myself to the sofa and slip into shorts before Dad knocked lightly and looked in quite early at the end of his shift. If he looked closely, he could tell we had both been in that bed, but it was still best to avoid in-your-face sexuality in your parent's home. I am sure he guessed that we were getting along pretty well. He saw I was up and whispered that he was headed to bed after a quick breakfast. I followed him out of the room and told him that we were going to try to see about the bike repair downtown this morning. I told him Chet had had a rough night, but there was really nothing to worry about. He reminded me that Matt would be home mid-morning, and offered to grill steaks that night—and that Chet was welcome to stay. I told him the plan was that Chet would stay until Monday and then I would drive him home. I asked about his night.

"Not terrible for a Friday night. Only three gunshot wounds, all with handguns in taverns and clubs, but none were fatal. I just wish those assholes in the State House would get up off their NRA-padded thrones and adopt some reasonable gun control. Handguns, concealed or not, do not belong on the bodies of young men in bars and clubs where alcohol is being served. What could they be thinking? Oh, sorry, they don't think. They just count the dollars fed them by the NRA and spout their dog whistle slogans about the Second Amendment. If I could, I'd instruct the EMT drivers that the ER is no longer accepting gun shot wound patients. Let them set up a triage center at the State House where those idiots can see first-hand the consequences of their policies every day—every hour. But, we're not going to change that situation in this state."

"You've got my vote. And you should have the vote of most others in a civilized society."

"Well, enjoy the pool later. And be safe."

"Always"

"That's not what I mean. You've only a few more days before med school will be taking up every minute of your life. Chet is a good looking guy, perhaps a bit needy. And I know your Nightingale tendencies. We can try to help him solve his problems, but I don't want to create another one for you. I assume from the limited evidence that Chet is gay. And that you guys are already getting it on. So I suggest you cool it just a bit and think with something besides your genitalia. I can already see it in your face. You fall hard and fast. He's not your responsibility. Connor's departure last year really sent you into depression. We don't need that again. Have you already had him—am I too late?"

"Come on, Dad. I'm 23. And no, he's in too much pain. I think I can watch myself. I like him, a lot, and I hope we'll be able to continue a friendship, maybe with benefits, in Houston. In fact, I may even ask him if I can help him move. Certainly, I don't have much to do to get ready." I knew that over the next weekend, I would be moving into Mom's Houston condo which was on University, near the med centers, and coincidentally at the fringe of the Rice campus. She had already removed most of her stuff and stored it since her new place wouldn't be ready until the first of the year, at best. I was going to "inherit" most of the furniture with the condo as she wanted to redesign the new place from scratch. Last week, we had moved most of my stuff in and bought my books. In the meantime, she would "bunk" with me (the condo had two bedrooms, a den and a balcony—so it wasn't exactly student housing) or stay at her favorite Galleria hotel when business took her to Houston.

I hugged Dad and sent him off for a day's rest. "'Til later." Then, I turned and reentered my room, went to pee, brushed my teeth and my unruly mop of bed hair and crawled back under the sheets, just as Chet opened his eyes. He had flipped onto his back and the sheet tented obviously with his morning wood--which matched my own in urgency. "Hey, patient. How's the pain?" Pointing at my own erection and then his, I added, "I can see you approve of the medical staff, pun definitely intended."

He chuckled. "I hope that is not your idea of comedy. Don't quit your day job. I'm not so bad. Wicked headache, but no more bleeding. I have more colors on my thighs and back than a well-tattooed Maori—I sort of like it. Should I get some tats do you think? If you'll let me brush away the dragon breath, you can do a detailed exam, if you want."

"Oh yes, I definitely want. And you can skip the tats for awhile. I'm not into body colors."

With that he threw the sheet off and walked in all his priapic glory to the bath. What a beautiful ass! That dick and that ass could tempt a monk to break his vows. His back was indeed colorful—green, yellow, pink and of course purple. He returned quickly, got in, and turned into a hug. I pulled him on top of me, spread my legs and pulled our junk together. "Let me know if any of this hurts," I said as I began a probe of his upper and lower back muscles with my hands, then his cheeks, and upper thighs. More a full body erotic massage than an examination, so sue me. "Not much pain, but my dick is painfully hard and my balls are really full and I have this deep itch deep in my ass."

"We can take care of that—or at least some of it, right now." I reached between us and rubbed our poles together, using our sweat as lube. He started rolling up into me and drawing our dicks over our abs. Quite a bit of washboard masturbatory friction. Then I grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled hard, finding purchase in his deep hip indentations, trailing fingers over his crevice and hole. I pushed up with my hips and took him nearly six inches off the bed. His head bobbed down and he mouthed my nipple, drawing it hard into his mouth while swirling a tongue around. Then, he pinched the other. I gasped. I slipped a wet finger deeply into his hole. He purred, actually purred. I kinda like that sound. And we both let loose multiple ropes of thick cum. Our chests were covered in spunk, and it started to stream down the creases in my abs. We were glued together. But I just couldn't release my firm grip on his muscular glutes. I pulled again and he slid up further until our lips met. His tongue probed deeply into me. Then, my still semi-hard dick popped out from between us and rested in his crack. He used his thigh and ass muscles to squeeze my dick as I gasped again into his mouth.

"Oh man, this feels so good. Just wait until later. Little Geoff has found the way to San Jose."

"Little, my ass. So certainly not 'Little Geoffy.' I think he's going to be Geoffy. No, I've got it: Geoffy Lube. You can use that dipstick to check my oil anytime. I think we're going to become very good friends."

"No one has used Geoffy since Mom—and I am pretty sure she meant something else," I laughed. "If you can joke, you are healing."

"We smell like sex—not really a bad perfume. But we both need a shower, together of course." We walked arm in arm to the shower. Chet seemed to be exaggerating his reliance on my support, but who was I to complain? I pulled him into me and began stroking as soon as he was wet and soapy. His hands reached down to mine as well. Within seconds, we were hard again and really sensitive. "We need to quit this. I'm sure Dad is waiting in the kitchen. I'll leave you to finish. Be careful not to slip on our spunk. We don't need a fall to add to your injuries. Dad is having breakfast and I can smell the bacon."

"I could get used to this kind of wake up very easily."

"Me too. I'll see you in the kitchen. Dad said he was going to start us on breakfast and then hit the sheets. Come on out when you're ready. Shorts, at least, might be in order this morning. We'll head out to Lone Star Bikes after breakfast. I'll call them now since Saturday is generally pretty busy for them. If you feel you want to do some training this morning—or later today, we do have a home gym and there is a Peloton. I'll show you later. Just say the words."

"Did you know that peloton is the word the French use for a full cycle team?"

Fifteen minutes later, Chet joined me for breakfast, looking a little tired, but really not bad—about the way I look after a hard workout in the gym—that "good" tired look with damp curls, droopy eye lids (what the debs used to call "bedroom eyes"), and a full smile. Either that, or he had just been thoroughly fucked. I was pleased Dad had already left for bed.

"Lone Star is set for 10. No one else has scheduled the frame analyzer for today so we're on. Dad said the GM of Amazon wanted to talk—in person if possible—so we asked him to come by later today after Dad has slept for awhile."

We finished and went to get ready to leave. I went out first and tied down a tarp over the bike parts in my truck. Chet came out a few minutes later in shorts and a long sleeve polo that covered most of the evidence of his injuries. He whistled when he saw my Dad's red Ferrari. He hadn't noticed it yesterday. "Yes. I said Mom was from an Italian auto family. Her maiden name is Ferrari."

"How did I not hear or notice this earlier? I must have a concussion and ah'm in some sort of dream world."

"Dad is careful not to sound too obnoxious with the roars early in the morning although there aren't any neighbors to speak of to complain. He just rolls the last few yards into the space."

"Well, I am impressed. I never knew that normal people actually owned and drove these—to commute, no less."

"I guess you are going to have to live with the fact that we are probably not your 'normal' people. And Chet, I don't think you are normal by any stretch of the imagination. You are amazing. At any rate, get in, we need to go."

We rolled down the long drive, flanked on both sides by hillsides of spent bluebonnets and Indian paint brush. Straggly blue-green olive trees appeared here and there. Tumbleweed caught in some of the brush. And a nearly dried up brook meandered along the side of the road. "Sorry, you don't get to see the color. It only lasts a few weeks, but it is the reason that Mom bought this place. It reminds her of the part of Tuscany that her family comes from." We pulled through the gate and he glanced up at the rampant stallions with a smile, understanding that our horse ranch was of a very different kind. A few miles later, we reached the interstate and headed to Austin.

"I guess we already know something about each other. But, I'm curious. You said that you don't have much experience—care to elaborate?"

"I presume you are talking about sexual experience? Do you really want the details?"

"I can't wait. Hit me with everything you feel comfortable spilling. We have about half an hour's drive and I'm not afraid of driving wood."

"Okay. You asked for it. When I arrived at Rice, I was a virgin—coming from a Christian fundamentalist prep school near Savannah. They only knew abstinence. I didn't even know the basics. I had never seen, let alone used, a condom. They called masturbation "self-abuse" and actually tried to forbid it! I dated and prommed, but we were always well-chaperoned ("Remember to leave space between you and your date for Jesus, at all times, even when dancing.") and I never had a one-on-one date until college. We counted ourselves lucky if we made it to first base—assuming we even knew their were bases. Even looking at another naked guy was sinful. Mom and Dad and the school carefully controlled our internet access too."

"But, I learned quickly at Rice. And thank God for the internet."

"Cycling also turned out to be a catalyst for my sexual initiation. I think I told you about the groupies—it started freshman year when I was only an alternate on RCC, but that ended more than a year ago. They were a nice introduction, set up by my jock buddies who first joked about my virginity and then spread all sorts of rumors about me. Imagine anyone thinking that I'm French? And not only French, but a skilled French lover! The hookups were casual and many, but I got off regularly and realized I was into it. Girls assumed that since I was a cyclist and bound for the Gran Prix, I was already an experienced French lover. Nicole, my last groupie, was a pro, wanted everything and I got the whole education: fucking every hole she had, fingering her, eating her out. She tried to swallow me whole, and I learned that I really enjoyed her anal stimulation as I fucked her. She was a sex machine and completely ended my fundamentalist hang-ups. She introduced me to various toys and unbelievable positions. She even pegged me once with a harness and a dildo. She started rumors that I was some kind of super hero lover and that I came buckets—and the guys added to the myths when they saw my size in the locker room. By sophomore year, I could date, and fuck, whomever I wanted. I went off the deep end. Fortunately, I knew how to swim and enjoyed the water."

"Now you definitely have my attention."

"It didn't continue. Deep down, I knew that I was just awakening to my sexuality and I wanted to experiment with everything—including boys and definitely longer term relationships. Nicole's dominant tendencies were beginning to turn me off. But, the guys in the locker room often turned me on—and as an athlete, I got to live in the special athletic dorms which were filled with muscled guys, semi-naked most of the time, with lots of testosterone in the air—and resulting behavior. There was no modesty—they broke me of that quickly. Some faux fore-play—grab ass, toweling, ass slapping, jock snapping. And lots of raunchy jokes and sexual innuendo, bordering on the homoerotic. I spent a lot of time hiding hard-ons and rushing back to my room for relief. I realized that I liked being an exhibitionist—particularly because I have something to show off. And the groupies gave me a lot of hetero cred."

"My bi-curiosity soon brought me to two very different guys. I had to get away from campus—I told you that the cycling club's coaches and trainers are really homophobes. I couldn't take any 'campus' risks. So I put on a jock that showcased my stuff and very tight jeans and a tee a few sizes too small and visited one of the gay dance clubs on Richmond—the one with a mechanical bull, which I did NOT try. How could they possibly put a bull designed to beat your ass and crush your balls big time in a gay pickup club? I guess you've noticed that I am not too hard on the eyes. I was in uniform: tight tee, threadbare jeans, with an invitation printed on my forehead. Within the first hour, a dozen guys must've hit on me and I could have been drunk with the drinks they bought me. Fortunately, I'm Irish and we hold our liquor pretty well. I tried some dancing—I am really not bad, but faux-fucking on the dance floor was not my bag. It was way too public. Or is it pubic?"

"You're actually pretty funny in that sardonic Irish way. Keep going."

"I had my choice of any anonymous sex partner. I was a little scared and chose a younger, small blonde guy that I thought I could handle if things went south. He was a clingy, vocal and I treated him like a girlfriend. We rented one of the private cubicles upstairs. No sooner was the door shut, he stripped showing a lithe creamy body. He was completely shaved, even his pubes, but it did seem that his hair had been bleached.

I let him open my jeans, and he pulled me out, screamed about my size and had me in his mouth instantly. He was obviously a pro as he tried to swallow me almost too quickly. He sucked hard. He gagged. I blew--but recovered quickly. In fact, even today, I typically need only a few minutes before I can have seconds. I positioned him on the cot with his skinny bubble of an ass and pink rosebud displayed for the taking. I hit his ass a few times—like I had seen on the internet—and he asked for more. I soon had my sheathed cock in his naked soft ass and tight sheath, pumping hard until he came while he continued to rave about my size and encouraged me with his cries. Then, he blew me again, gagging as he tried to deep throat me. I was still hard, so I fucked him again using only my cum as lube the second time, and he squealed loudly. Four ejaculations in less than an hour. Maybe I am a super lover. Certainly his mouth and ass were filled with my essence. But he was too clingy, too loud, and too feminine for me. I think he got what he wanted, but we didn't leave together. So my first was definitely a twink slut. I uber-ed home and after just a few days began to think maybe I wasn't bi after all—if this was what was available. And certainly I wasn't gay. Nicole reminded me again of that the following weekend. Really horny, but not gay."

"I tried again a few weeks later and hooked a more masculine looking guy. He was a cowboy, or at least playing that role, nearly as tall as I, with an exaggerated bow to his legs that showed off a good sized basket. He wore ass-hugging jeans with a threadbare crotch (do they sell them like that?), boots (which exaggerated his height) and a tight, pearl-buttoned shirt. He had shaggy long hair, but must have left his hat in the pickup, but I was sure the pickup had longhorns on the grill and a gun rack behind the cab window! It didn't, but we did take the pickup to his place, a small messy apartment he shared with another senior at UH, not exactly a home on the range."

"Do I detect a pickup pattern here—twinks and cowboys? Which of your pickup dream boys am I? Be careful about the longhorns. I did go to UT."

"Screw you."

"Oh, I sure hope so and soon."

"He was just a little older, but not very experienced. Stereotypical taciturn cowboy. He barely said a word. We opened a six pack and started making out. I insisted that I was only a top, and he went along. I got him good and hot as we both shed clothes. His body wasn't bad. He was deeply tanned, redneck style, with work-created muscles mostly in his arms and chest—but with another six pack. His rock hard dick was average plus and uncut, and his eyes bulged when he saw my cock. I suited and lubed up and pushed him onto his back. I wanted to see him as he came. It was my first time playing with an uncut penis. I swallowed his head and played with the hood as he hardened. I tried to dock my tongue, but it was too tight. Then I used my tongue around his ass until he was groaning." "Put it in. Fuck me for God's sake."

"I've often wondered what God or Jesus has to do with fucking—but I must say I've been called both, thank you, when I did. It's enough to give you a complex—particularly someone like me with a thorough religious upbringing. I lubed him liberally, finishing with three fingers as I had learned on the internet. I don't think he was a virgin, but... Then I slowly penetrated. I was big and he was tight. I found his prostate and punched it a few times as he hollered. He used his arms and hands to squeeze my ass and rim my hole pulling me in farther while I pounded him. And then he came in total silence! I had expected at least a 'Yee Haw.' But, the ass-play taught me that I needed to widen my horizons. For the next round, I took him doggie style and pounded his ass and stroked his dick so hard, he creamed all over the sofa in just a few minutes and collapsed. He seemed to enjoy it. I don't think guys fake it the way girls do. He certainly got off more than once. Maybe I'm not such a poor cocksman. But, I left him snoring around 3 to head back to campus. And, I never saw him again. I don't even know his last name. I enjoyed it. I now knew I was bi or gay. But I was not going to risk a future for a casual lay—not when Nicole was still around and willing to play."